


My Heart Beats Against Your Silver Knife

by goldenzingy46



Series: Serial Killers [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Muggle, Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Asexual Luna Lovegood, Creepy Tom Riddle, Gods, Harry has tattoos, I Will Go Down With This Ship, Immortality, M/M, Murder Husbands, Nonbinary Luna Lovegood, Obsessive Tom Riddle, Old Gods, Possessive Tom Riddle, Resurrection, Serial Killer, Serial Killer Tom Riddle, Slow Burn, Stalker Tom Riddle, This Is Probably Not Going To Go The Way You Think, Tom Riddle is His Own Warning, Xe/Xyr Pronouns for Luna Lovegood, irregular updates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-03
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:21:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24522280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldenzingy46/pseuds/goldenzingy46
Summary: Harry Potter was never the kind of man to care about his life, eating cheap food in a cheap flat and never bothering to futher himself - why should he?He cared, however, when it came to solving crime - and the latest murder mystery was no exception, sending him all over London in hopes of solving it and many crimes associated with the help of the charming Tom Riddle from Riddle Manor, just up the hill.But there was something slightlyoffabout Tom Riddle...((Adjusted original summary because I hated it.))
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Series: Serial Killers [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1719148
Comments: 116
Kudos: 172





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Removed existing opening notes.
> 
> Note: Removed the MCD tag, as whilst many people die, no major characters do. 
> 
> Edit: Fixed the present/past tense clash.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EXTREMELY short chapter gbsudygsnd sorry

In the darkness, two crimson eyes snapped open, pale skin making him almost akin to a ghost. Fingers _tap-tap-tapped_ against the mahogany of the imposing armchair that took up the centre of the room, perfect half-moon nails drumming away.

The man stood, feet barely making an indent in the plush red carpet, making his way past bookshelves with perfectly ordered books, across the dark wood of the floor to stand by the curtains, pulling back the red drapes and opening the window, letting the cool night air into the uncomfortably warm room. He reached out and picked up a wickedly sharp knife, watching it gleam silver in the light of the moon, too-white teeth glittering. The man used the flat side of the blade to smooth down his already flawlessly coiffed hair, nearly as dark as the night itself, unblemished skin like ice at midnight.

Tom Riddle watched the only remaining lamp on the path down from Riddle Mansion to Little Hangelton flicker, and laughed.

***

Two emerald eyes snapped open, a pale skinned hand a near opposite to the dark mess of hair upon his head as he attempted to block out the harsh sunlight that streamed into the apartment, piercing his thick blanket of darkness.

"'Mione?" Harry murmured blearily, knowing that there was only one woman who would stalk into his apartment and rip back the tacky blue-green curtains.

Hermione Granger glared at him. "You absolutely cannot stay here in the dark with no fresh air, no matter how many fans you have!"

She opened the window, the uncomfortably warm air meeting a gush of summer breeze. Harry rubbed his eyes again and felt around for his glasses, rolling off the bed, cursing the cheap springs and metal frame. He could feel Hermione's disapproving gaze on his back, and winced.

Harry Potter was the kind of guy who walked around with multiple tattoos and multiple piercing in his ears, leather jackets and band shirts, ripped jeans and converse. He was the kind of guy whose apartment was always filled with noise, from the whirring of his multiple fans and the radio in the background, to the beep of the broken microwave and the clanking of the faulty washing machine. The kind of guy who wasn't scary at all, and honestly could not care when it came to life.

You'd probably find him eating reheated pizza, most of the time.

However, he was a police officer, and when he was called in, he let Hermione drag him out of bed and joined Ron on the way.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The game is afoot...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! Long time no see!
> 
> It's a slightly shorter chapter than intended (I appear to be doing that a lot with this fic, sorry guys), but I should hopefully have another chapter soon. 
> 
> (I say that a lot, then don't do it. Feel free to pester me, it makes me feel loved)
> 
> I'll be updating the tags as I have a better grasp on the plot, too.
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> WARNING: Use of f*ggot as an insult by a nameless man.

Sunlight streamed through the windows of Hermione's car, and Harry groaned, tuning the customary argument out as they drove to the police station. It wasn't like he was planning on being late, or anything, it was just that there was so much paperwork. He was eighteen, bright and happy to be an officer, and instead he had no action at all. He would consider quitting if it didn't go against everything Harry Potter was (stubborn).

They pulled up, and Harry shoved the door open and clambered out, readjusting his glasses. He might've slammed the door a little, but they'd been given him a headache.

"Potter, Weasley," Kingsley, head of police, greeted them. "There's been a murder."

The haze of sleep was abruptly ripped away, and Harry tried to hide his excitement for the taste of _action_.

***

"Coven Way," Kingsley had said, which was right at the edge of Little Hangleton, which was chock full of low lives and drunkards, all swarming around a well-dressed man who looked like he spent more money on his appearance than he had brain cells to use.

Ron hopped out the car, intent on ending it, but Harry held him back.

"What-"

"Wait," he hissed, eyes on the man in the centre.

He was tall and thin, but not unattractively so, with sharp cheekbones and well-groomed hair. He had dark eyes that reminded Harry of melting chocolate, and a nonchalant tilt to his chin.

His eyes, however, said otherwise.

This rich idiot, whoever he was, was absolutely terrified.

Harry was transfixed.

This man seemed to be spellbinding in every movement of his body, cultured tones sliding from his mouth as he tried to reason with the angry mob, tongue pushing past his lips every few sentences.

The spell was broken by Ron.

"Harry! What the hell are you doing?"

Harry realised too late that Ron had pushed past him, towards the crowd.

"Everybody stand down!"

The man closest to him turned, shortly followed by everybody else.

"And who're you, then? His faggot boyfriend?"

Harry tuned out Ron's response, eyes already back on the man, who had already stopped showing the primal but well-hidden fear he'd shown before, and now merely studied the scene with a cold disinterest.

Odd for a man who seemed so scared before.

"P'rhaps we should gut you, too!" was what jerked Harry into acting.

"Police!" he called, holding up his badge, one that Ron had ever-so-conveniently forgotten before.

"Stand down or spend a night in a jail cell. Your choice."

"Bloody bobbies," someone swore, shoving their way through and stalking home. After that, it only took a few more minutes for everyone to disperse, and Harry approached the man who had been so scared yet so cold.

The man smiled, velvety lips curling upwards in a way that seemed almost inhuman, and surely had to be illegal. He was here on business duty, nothing else.

"Tom Riddle. Pleasure to meet the man who saved my life, or at the very least my dignity."

He grasped his hand, warm skin against icily cold. _How could someone with eyes like that have skin so cold?_

"It's nothing, really. Just doing my job."

On second thoughts, perhaps he didn't throw around money for a lack of smarts. He seemed intelligent enough.

"Harry, mate! We gotta go! Can't be late to your first crime scene now, can we?"

Tom gave Ron a thin smile, one that suggested that maybe he should step back.

"If you ever need any help, I'll be in Riddle Manor. It's just up the way, you can't miss it."

Harry let Ron drag him away, sparing a glance over his shoulder to Tom, who has vanished. _There's time to be gay later, Harry, and a murder to solve now._

***

Coven Way was a dark but not dank alleyway behind a pub, which was odd, all things considering. Surely there'd be some kind of mould or damp back here? It was almost like someone had scrubbed it clean in preparation for the murder.

The pub was a fairly popular one for such a small place, and Harry assumed there'd be a few witnesses, somebody hearing screaming, _something_.

But there was none. Zip. Zilch. Nada.

The forensics team led them into the centre of the alleyway, where a pale figure lay on the ground, a ragged smile cut into his face.

Dried blood caked through dark hair, silver-grey eyes staring vacantly ahead of him.

His skin was cold.

"How long has he been here?"

There was Ron, asking the rights questions, not eerily entranced by the crime scene, like Harry.

He closed his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath.

The features, although marred by the killer's twisted sense of humour, were similar. The sharp nose, the arch of the eyebrows and the thin scar trailing down the side of his neck - his slit throat - belonged to one Regulus Arcturus Black.

_Why was a man who never left home found dead in a backstreet so far away?_

"Regulus Black," he interrupted, trying not to think of his godfather's brother lying there, dead for nearly twenty-four hours. "Why was he in Little Hangleton?"

Ron blinked, and the girl from forensics stared at him. "Who?"

"The body. It's Regulus Black."

"Right! I'll run some DNA tests, I'm sure we have enough Black family members on our records to find a match."

He watched her go, jaw set. "Regulus had no reason to be here. He wouldn't have left the townhouse in Central London if he didn't have to, let alone getting his throat slit and face mutilated in a back alley far out on the edge."

Harry let Ron's comforting hand on his shoulder relax him somewhat, but his mind was buzzing, and his eyes were darting across the scene.

"It doesn't make sense." 

"What doesn't, mate?"

Ron knew that Harry, whilst he didn't have the best vision, had an eye for crime scenes, murder ones specifically.

He also knew that Harry needed someone to talk to so he could figure it out himself.

"The way the blood is angled, it's done so very well, but it's... _off_ , slightly. It's like someone dripped it onto the ground before bringing Reg- _Black_ here. And nobody heard anything! Or saw anything! _Somebody_ would have noticed a rich man like Black slipping into a grimy - or not so grimy, in this case, which it shouldn't be, because who has a cleaning service for an _alleyway_ \- alley, yet nobody did and _it doesn't make any sense_!"

He was a tad frustrated.

Crime scenes normally made sense to him, from the position of the body to the dirt on the walls. This one, however, did not, and it made him want to scream.

He took a breath.

"So, who would have the motive to kill our victim?"

He was Constable Harry Potter, and he would solve this case.

***

Four hours later, Constable Harry Potter could safely say that he did not think he could solve this case.

They had a list of possible suspects, but it took less than five minutes to give nearly all of them an alibi.

The first suggestion had, of course, been Sirius Black, Regulus Black's estranged brother, but seeing as he'd been having dinner with Inspector James Potter and his wife, Lily Potter, he was quickly ruled out, to Harry's relief. He did not want to think of his godfather as a killer.

The next one had been his cousins, Andromeda Tonks, Bellatrix Lestrange and Narcissa Malfoy.

Andromeda was a lovely woman, stunningly beautiful and kind all in one basket. She was the kind of person you would think would be the last to commit a murder, and her and her husband had been more than willing to cooperate with the police.

As it turned out, she was helping out at a local school, and they ruled her out, too.

Bellatrix had seemed promising, a budding young woman married off to a rich man and promptly not allowed outside, wanting revenge on her family for the cage she had been forced into.

However, upon arrival, it was blatantly clear as to why Bellatrix was not allowed outside.

She was insane.

She was also kept doped up on Lithium, and they dreaded what she'd be like off of it.

CCTV footage ruled her out quite quickly, although Ron gagged when Bellatrix started throwing up rather violently. It was a rather disgusting side effect of the drug, but a necessary one.

Narcissa was attending a high-profile society function with Lucius Malfoy, although their son, Draco Malfoy, the famous actor, bailed because 'he was sick'. However, he has been seen with his girlfriend, Pansy Parkinson, early the next morning, and he didn't look ill in the slightest.

"Guys," Harry called. "I think we've found a lead."


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finally, a decent sized chapter!

Draco Malfoy, upon first glance, appeared to be a typical snobbish actor.

He was rich, rude, and unfortunately handsome, with no alibi except his own word. The Manor had CCTV around the outside, but there were plenty of gaps and nothing could prove Malfoy had been sleeping off his illness in his chambers.

He was the ideal suspect.

The downside was that he had no wish to cooperate, and without solid evidence, there was no warrant by which they could arrest him with and nothing they said would hold up in court. On top of this, Malfoy was a famous actor, meaning the press would get a hold of the case fairly quickly and he could lie his way out of any questions they asked him.

"Harry," Kingsley said. "I'm telling you this not as your superior but as your friend - don't go to Malfoy Manor."

Harry's eye twitched. "He's our only suspect right now."

"Black was found dead in a back alley behind a pub. Anyone could have done it."

"Regulus was found in an alley that had been scrubbed clean! No DNA was found anywhere on him, and, besides that, he would never end up there in the first place." he snapped.

Kingsley sighed, readjusting his grip on the files. "You're emotionally compromised, then. A conflict of interest like this means you should drop the case."

"I don't know him, just of him."

"You're treading on thin ice, Potter."

With that, Kingsley walked away.

Harry was going to Malfoy Manor.

***

Hermione offered to drive him and Ron to the Manor, Harry knowing that taking a police car would only inspire Kingsley to try and stop him from going again, and possibly kick him off the case entirely.

On the upside, Hermione, as a lawyer, was typically good for brainstorming with, and she knew it. Harry had a lot of grievances to air about the crime scene, and she would probably help satisfy them.

Hermione half-turned around, eyes still scanning the road. "So, what’s confusing you now?"

"How do you know anything is confusing me?" Harry half-heartedly protested, even as Hermione gave him a knowing smile. Sighing, he continued, "It's the crime scene. Regulus was lying on blood stains that were slightly off, almost as though he'd been placed on top of pre-painted blood. It was almost perfect, though."

Ron frowned. "Surely the killer just didn't want to be connected to the crime?"

"That's not it," Harry responded. "The alleyway had been purposely cleaned - who does that?"

"Perhaps," Hermione said, "You have a serial killer on the loose."

"How do you know it's a serial killer? There's only been one death."

Rolling her eyes, she said, "Because, Ron, serial killers have a tendency to make the crimes similar. Cleaning an alleyway and painting blood onto it is the set, and Regulus Black the first known victim."

Harry had lit up. "We need to analyse why Coven Way has been chosen. If we can figure that out, we can set guards onto possible future scenes."

"We need a profiler," Ron murmured.

A profiler. He'd met someone who might be able to do that - but would he? He _had_ given Harry his address, after all, and an invite.

It didn't hurt that he was hot, either.

"Harry," Hermione said, cutting through his thoughts. "The victim was placed at the scene, meaning he probably wasn't killed there."

Ron startled, pulling out his notepad. "We should find the original scene. There might be some evidence there."

They pulled up outside the grand gates of Malfoy Manor, and Ron reached out to press the buzzer.

Harry blanched. "We should probably tell the rest of the Black family."

"You mean you haven't already?" Hermione asked, hitting him. "Harry!"

The gates swung open. Whatever Ron had said had granted them access, which was better than what Kingsley had expected, clearly. Now the challenge was getting information out of him without him telling them to return with a warrant or asking for his lawyer.

Grabbing a warrant would have taken far too long, and Hermione would have had to wait in the car as it would be an official police investigation.

Hermione would be invaluable to the case as a prosecution lawyer, probing and asking the right questions. They couldn't afford to lose her.

Malfoy was waiting in the front hall, and the game began.

"So, Malfoy," Harry began, "When did you last see your Uncle, Regulus Black?"

A puzzled look across his face, one that had been in many films and many TV shows, Malfoy responded, "Uncle Reg? A while ago, I'm not sure when."

A nickname. Either quite close or faking it.

Smiling sympathetically, Hermione took over. "You must miss him so much," she said.

Malfoy gave a half-smile. "I do, rather."

 _Malfoy shouldn't know he was dead._ Harry shouldn't have caught him that quickly, surely!

"Walburga, though, I'm not willing to go past her to talk to him unless I have to," he continued. "It'd be nice if he'd come over, sometimes, though, but we all know how the rest of the Black family feels about Malfoys."

Drat.

Although, that titbit would be worth looking into later - what happened between the Blacks and the Malfoys?

"Why are you asking?" Malfoy said, suddenly suspicious. "Has something happened to him?"

"We're visiting all of his family members," Ron said. "I'm sorry to tell you, but Regulus Black is dead."

Malfoy's face crumpled slightly, before straightening back up. "I think you should sit down," he said, "Then tell me what happened."

***

They sat in the Malfoys expensive looking living room; Harry perched awkwardly on the end of the sofa.

"Malfoy," he began, before getting cut off.

"Please, do call me Draco," Malfoy said, hands wrapped around a cup of tea.

"Draco, then," Harry continued. "Black was found dead yesterday morning."

"And you're only telling me now?" A pause. "If the police are here, does that mean...?"

"I'm sorry, Draco," Hermione said. "He was murdered."

“Oh, God," he whispered, grey eyes staring blankly at his cup. "Reg didn't deserve that."

"What _do_ you think he deserved?" Ron asked, teacup untouched.

"Not this. Never this."

That was helpful.

Abruptly, Draco asked, "How did Walburga take this?"

"We haven't informed her yet." Harry said.

"Then why did you come to me first?"

Hermione placed her cup down, offering him a comforting look. "Where were you last night?"

"You can't-" Draco spluttered. "You can't think _I_ did this?"

Ron gave him a tight-lipped smile. "We're following up on every lead we have."

"I was sick in bed all of that night!"

"You were seen shopping with Ms. Parkinson, your girlfriend, in the morning, and you didn't seem ill in the slightest." Harry said, tapping his notebook against the table.

Blanching, Draco said, "Surely that's not enough grounds to arrest me on."

Raising her eyebrow, Hermione responded, "You have the motive, means and opportunity to do so."

"What motive?"

Draco was clearly panicking now.

"You just told us yourself. The Blacks and the Malfoys don't get along in the slightest."

Ron added, "Besides, you don't seem that surprised to see us."

"I see a lot of police members. Many people do stupid things trying to get close to me." Draco explained, biting his lip.

With a consoling pat on his arm, Hermione took over. "Draco, you don't have to convince us. Just tell us where you _really_ were last night."

"I can't-" he broke off. "Pansy would kill me."

"If Parkinson is blackmailing you, we can help," Harry said, mind already bursting with ideas.

"No!" Draco yelped, shocked. "Pansy isn't doing anything."

Hermione gave him a gentle smile. "Draco, we are _on your side_. We want to help you, to find Regulus' killer, just like you do. Right?"

"Yes," he said, taking a deep breath. "For Regulus."

"Where were you, Draco?"

Closing his eyes, he said, "I was with Astoria."

"Astoria?" Ron asked.

"Astoria Greengrass. My last film was with her."

Astoria Greengrass, a promising actress whose career had shot through the roof with her latest job, where she'd been the love interest to Draco.

"I can imagine how easily you must have been taken by her," Harry said. "She is very charismatic."

"No!" Draco nearly yelled. "It's not like that!"

"Wasn't it?"

Draco didn't answer.

"Lying to the police is a crime, you know," Ron said, eyes fixed firmly upon Draco.

Head snapping up, Draco hissed, "Do you even have a warrant?" He paused. "Scratch that, I want my lawyer."

Turning on her heel, Hermione said, crisply, "We'll see you at the station tomorrow evening. Bring your lawyer."

With that, they left the despondent actor behind.

***

They drove back, Harry tugging on his stud. "Malfoy is a fairly rich," he said, frowning. "His lawyer will be good."

"Don't worry," she said, dismissively. "Malfoy may be rich but he's clearly never had to defend himself for murder. His lawyer will be a well-known, arrogant type, probably Cormac McLaggen."

That did nothing to relieve Harry's unease.

"Hermione," he hissed. "McLaggen is widely known as the best defence lawyer around!"

Rolling her eyes, she responded, "I've crossed Cormac many times. He likes to toot his own horn, but he is a nut I know how to crack."

"Cormac?" Ron asked, guarded. "On a first name basis with him, are you?"

"Ron," Hermione said, exasperated. "Really."

"'Mione," Harry said, pausing when she glared at him.

"Do _not_ butcher my name!"

"Hermione," he tried again, albeit more nervously this time. "How, exactly, are you going to deal with McLaggen? It'll be an official police investigation; you won't be able to join."

She blinked. "Did I not tell you? I cleared my schedule. I'm signing on as a police consultant."

Ron spluttered. "So, we could have gotten a warrant?"

Harry shook his head. "Kingsley would never have given us one, and we don't have enough evidence even if he would."

"Shame."

They drove in comfortable silence for a while, Harry tracing the outline of the tattoos on his arm.

"We should see Ms. Greengrass after the Blacks," he said, frowning.

"We need to verify the alibis of all of them," Ron agreed, before pulling his phone out of his pocket. "That reminds me, with Malfoy coming in tomorrow, I ought to see if Ginny can sidetrack the press."

Hermione glanced up. "Get Ginny to act like there's a really big case on the opposite side of town. She'll have to put her game face on, Draco is a fairly big public face."

"A fairly big, she says," Harry muttered. "He's in everything worth watching."

"You can bribe her with the details of this case after it's solved," she added. "Ginny doesn't do anything for free.

"I wish she did," Ron grumbled.

They pulled up outside of No. 12 Grimmauld Place, a building that would once have been beautiful, but had crumbled with age and now looked rundown and uncared for.

It was a generally avoided area of London, expensive and the rumours of Walburga Black's famous temper keeping people away, and so if Harry were feeling nervous as he climbed out the car, it was perfectly justified.

Knocking on the door, he called, "Mrs. Black?"

There was silence, then the slow sound of footsteps rang out, then a voice.

"It's Ms. Black, thank you very much," Walburga snapped. "My husband died years ago."

Ah yes, the Blacks' incestual and tragic marriage, which had led to a murder case being opened upon Orion's death. Walburga had been the prime suspect, but, as always, it had been dropped with a claim of libel.

The Blacks were already known for murdering their servants. Nothing had ever been proved, of course, but the latest servant (given one of the Blacks' fun nicknames, something like Creature?) had died and a case had been opened, only to be dropped after Regulus Black mysteriously became ill, and ruled an accidental food poisoning.

Harry was a little wary of entering the house.

"When did you last see your son?" he asked.

Walburga glared at him. "Which son?"

Ron, lips clenched tightly together, said, "Regulus Black."

"My son," she said, head held high, "Went out a few days ago. He said he was going for a drive." She sniffed. "It's been a very _long_ drive, clearly.

Hermione touched her arm gently, only for Walburga to snatch it back with a glare. "I'm sorry, Ms. Black. Your son is dead."

Walburga stared at her for a second before saying, "Impossible."

They stared at her. For a woman who kept taxidermized human heads on the wall, they assumed she'd be a lot more comfortable with the topic of death.

"My son is above such concepts of _dying_ aged thirty-seven. He was perfectly healthy."

As she said this, her hand twitched. Harry's eyes zoomed in on it - what was she hiding?

"Ms. Black," Hermione said again. "Your son was found dead yesterday morning."

"Impossible," Walburga repeated, stumbling.

"Ma'am?" Ron said. "Would you like to sit down?"

Walburga grasped the top of the straight-backed chair, sinking into it. "No," she murmured. "He can't be dead."

"I'm sorry, ma'am," Ron said. "He was murdered."

"Murdered?" Walburga said, dazed. She looked at her hands. "What happened to him?"

"That's what we're trying to find out, ma'am." Ron said, surprisingly tactful. "Is there anything you can tell us?"

"I-" she gasped for breath. "I'd like a glass of water, please."

Harry went over to the counter, grabbing a glass and filling it at the tap before handing it to her. She downed it in one gulp.

"How did he die?"

Harry sighed, saying, "It appears that he had this throat slit."

"Oh." she said, faintly.

"Ma'am - we want to find your son's killer. Anything you can tell us would be invaluable." Ron said.

Walburga gasped for breath, seeming like she was about to answer, before collapsing.

***

They'd called an ambulance, Walburga seemingly having a heart attack. They'd promised to call the station if she pulled through, and Kingsley had already set the new forensic scientist (his name was something like Colin, Harry believed) to go through Grimmauld, using Regulus' death and Walburga's heart attack as an excuse.

With nothing to do but wait for results, they decided to see if they could interrogate Ms. Greengrass.

The drive to the Greengrass house was a long one, casting a lot of shadow onto Malfoy's alibi.

Ron nudged Harry. "I don't know about you, mate," he said. "But I really don't think Malfoy managed to get here in the time he said he did."

Tugging on his cartilage piercing, Harry frowned. "He did seem pretty sincere," he muttered.

Hermione said, "He is an actor. But then again, he could be lying about the timings, which is _why we are visiting Ms. Greengrass."_

"Well. Um. Yes, I suppose."

They pulled up outside the Greengrass house just in time, had they waited another minute or so, Harry would no doubt have managed to pull a piercing _through_ his ear, which would have been fun for exactly none of them.

Astoria Greengrass was not the kind of woman you'd expect to find sleeping with a taken man. She was exceedingly polite, smiling and laughing, tucking dark strands of hair behind her ear as she invited them in, and was as helpful as possible.

It was a delightful change from Walburga Black.

"Ms. Greengrass?" Hermione asked. "May we come in?"

"Of course!" Greengrass said, smiling and holding the door open. "Come in!"

She ushered them into a kitchen, sitting down at the table and gesturing for them to do the same. "How may I help?"

"When was the last time you saw Draco Malfoy?"

She laughed, slightly, and said, "You won't tell, will you? He _does_ care for Pansy, and I don't think he wants to hurt her."

"This is a police investigation, Ms. Greengrass," Harry said. "We do try to keep the details away from the press."

Ginny would no doubt hear about the affair as part of her bribe from Ron.

"Oh, _do_ call me Astoria! Ms. Greengrass is my sister."

"Astoria," Hermione said, smiling, "It's of vital importance we knew when Draco was with you last night. Would you mind telling us?"

"Oh!" Astoria said, tucking a strand of dark hair behind her ear. "He arrived a little before the party started. He called from my landline to say he was sick."

Ron glanced up from his notebook. "And what time did he leave?"

"About four AM," she said. "He wanted to get home and sleep for a few hours before going shopping with Pansy at then."

"Thank you, Astoria," Harry said. "You've been very helpful."

Hermione laid a hand on his arm. "One last question, please."

"Anything I can do to help!"

"What do you know of Regulus Black?" Hermione asked.

Astoria blinked. "Regulus, Regulus, Regulus... oh! Draco's Uncle Reg! I don't know much about him, sorry." Her expression shifted. "Why? Is he okay?"

"No reason," Hermione said. "Thank you for your time. Would you mind coming into the station in two days’ time? You're allowed to bring a lawyer, if you wish, although you're under no charges, at the moment."

"Of course! Anything to help!"

They left Astoria's house a little dazed by how genuinely sweet she was. A feat fairly odd, seeing as she was well aware that she was helping Malfoy cheat with Parkinson, but then again, some people were just like that.

***

They dropped in on the station to write up the paperwork for today's work, and to request interview rooms for the interviews they'd organised.

"Do you think we should interview Parkinson? She might have known about the affair, taken out one of the family members in revenge?" Ron asked.

Harry winced. "It's a bit of a weak motive to kill Regulus," he said. "Surely it would make more sense to kill Draco or Astoria, or his parents?"

"Perhaps." Ron muttered.

"Potter, Weasley," Kingsley called. "Granger," he added, giving her a nod. "There's been a second murder. Alalia Street, Little Hangelton."


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> harry is very gay and very dumb, but we been knew

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we love unedited but quick to update right? 

Harry's breath caught in his throat. They'd figured that there'd be a second murder, but _so soon_? It had barely been a day!

They drove to the crime scene, Riddle Manor looming behind the town.

Harry would deny staring at it.

He just needed a profiler! Tom had invited him over, and he seemed so nice, with those gentle brown eyes and apologetic smile. He wasn't letting feelings get in the way of the case at all. Nope.

Wrenching his eyes away, he focused on yet another alleyway, spotlessly clean if you ignored the blood.

Alalia Street. Alalia, delayed speech. A fairly uncommon word.

Did it mean anything? To a serial killer, everything had to be perfect.

A man was sprawled out on the ground, the blood artfully painted around him. One could almost imagine his throat having been slit right there, but, if Harry were right, evidence would suggest otherwise.

"Any ID?" Ron said, crouching down to the corpse's level.

The girl from forensics frowned. "Not yet," she said. "But we still think we can identify him."

"Anything that can give us a good guess?" Harry asked.

"Thirty-five to forty-year-old male, white. Under a lot of stress, as it seems, and the hair is quite greasy. See the stains on his hand, here?" The girl gestured at the victim's hand. "Our victim worked with quite dangerous chemicals. Nasty stuff." She shuddered.

"Thanks, Myrtle." Hermione said. "Anything else?"

"I'd say he was probably abused as a child, or at least neglected. He shows signs of stunted growth due to malnourishment, and his nose has been broken a few times and never healed." Myrtle sighed, dragging a hand across her face. "It didn't seem to get much better for him, if those frown lines are anything to go by."

There was a moment of silence, as the four of them stared at the victim.

"I wish I didn't have to take these cases." Myrtle muttered.

"Thanks again, Myrtle," Hermione said. "We should probably bring all of this to a profiler, now, whilst we wait for the poor man's dental records to come up with a match."

"I know a profiler," Harry blurted. "He doesn't live too far from here."

Hermione rose an eyebrow at him. "You _know_ people?"

Ron choked on laughter. "You have a point, but really, Hermione, you can't just say that!"

"Say what you want," Hermione said. "But Harry 'knowing' people means he's lusting after them."

Harry spluttered, saying, "That's not true!"

Hermione and Ron stared at him.

"Okay, I guess it's a little true."

Harry glared. "But the point stands that I still know a profiler! He doesn’t even live too far from here."

"Okay then Harry," Hermione teased. "We'll let you go and flirt with the profiler whilst we study the dead body a bit more."

As much as Harry delighted in visiting Tom alone, the hill was stupidly steep and he'd left the car with the others, and he wanted to make a good impression. For work-related reasons, of course.

He knocked on the door, trying to act like everything _didn't_ ache and he wasn't sweating literal buckets.

The door opened, revealing Tom Riddle, the aristocratic and handsome man who Harry had saved the other day, who had offered up his services.

"Constable Potter," Tom said, smiling. Harry tried to focus on his eyes instead of his lips, heat flaring on his face. "How may I help?"

"Um," Harry said, brain stopping. "Hi."

"Did you need me?" Tom's smile was pleasant, if a little confused.

"Yes!" Harry practically yelled; Tom taken back slightly by his reaction.

"Why don't you come inside?"

Harry's brain finally rebooted, allowing him to follow Tom through the house.

"Have a seat, please," Tom said, gesturing to one of the plush armchairs. "It's been a while since I last had guests."

"Do you remember the case that brought me to Little Hangelton?" Harry asked, conveniently forgetting Tom knew nothing other than 'crime scene'.

Tom laughed. Even his laugh was beautiful. "Oh, but how could I forget the murder that brought you to rescue me?"

"Well," Harry said. "There's been another one, and we think it's a serial killer." He paused. "Do you know how to profile them?"

"Of course," Tom murmured, eyes fastened onto Harry's. "I know a lot of psychology."

Harry smiled. "Thank you."

"Leave the evidence here, I'll have a profile for you by tomorrow." Tom said, resting his hand on Harry's. "It's no trouble."

Harry nearly skipped down the hill, having left his case notes with Tom. Hermione and Ron were waiting for him, and they drove back to the station together.

"Tom should have the profile drawn up by tomorrow." Harry said.

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "Tom?"

Oops. "My profiler." he clarified, hoping she wouldn't press for more.

"Right."

Parking in the station's car park, Hermione said, "They might have found a match on our victim's dental records by now. We should go and see Myrtle and see what she's found."

They followed her down the stairs, nodding at Kingsley on the way down. It wouldn't hurt to _try_ and be nice, no matter how he seemed to prefer that they closed this case as quickly as possible, regardless of getting the right suspect.

"Hey, Myrtle!" Hermione called. "Have you discovered who our victim is?"

Myrtle glanced up. "Dental records match those of Severus Tobias Snape, thirty-eight years old. Chemist, working with highly dangerous substances, godfather to Draco Malfoy."

Harry froze. "It's a good thing he's coming in for interrogation today, then."

Myrtle rose an eyebrow. "You managed to get Draco Malfoy to come in? As in _Draco Malfoy_ Draco Malfoy?"

"Draco Malfoy, yes." Harry said.

"Don't let Kate see him. She'll ask for an autograph."

"What have we got on Snape?" Ron asked.

She wrinkled her nose. "He doesn't seem to be very pleasant. He attended school with the elder Malfoys, but other than that I can't see _why_ Snape ended up as godfather. He's not too rich, either."

"Any other connections?"

"Not really. He appears to be pretty solitary." Pushing her glasses up her nose, she added, "I'd say it was a murder of opportunity."

Harry resolved to interrogate Malfoy even harder. His innocence was going to be hard to prove, and Harry was pretty sure (despite how nice Astoria was - the pair of them were _both_ actors) that he was the culprit.

"Oh!" Myrtle said. "I think Colin has gone through Grimmauld Place. Might want to talk to him."

"Will do!" Ron said. "Thanks."

Harry winced. Colin was the new employee, and he was incredibly hyper. It was undoubtedly the perfect job for him, but he was not the easiest to deal with.

"Harry! Ron!" Colin ran over, waving. "Person I don't know! How are you?"

"My name is Hermione Granger," Hermione said, coolly.

Ron shrugged. "We're alright, trying to catch a murderer." A beat. "Have you got anything on Walburga Black?"

"Well," he began, "She has enough poison to kill most of the country."

That was unsurprising, really. "Anything else?"

"The tap was poisoned. If she asked for water, she knew what she was doing - she poisoned herself." Colin look far too cheerful for the news he was giving. "It would have stimulated the effect of a heart attack and caused a coma if we hadn't caught it when we did. She'll pull through, I think she'll wake up in a few hours."

"Why would she-" Harry paused. "She's hiding something."

"Yep!" Colin beamed. "The poisons I could trace came from _Slytherin_ , a chemist who works with highly dangerous chemicals."

Hermione frowned. "Who runs Slytherin?"

"This is where it gets interesting!" Colin said. "The owner of Slytherin was Severus Snape."

Ron let out a breath. "So, either this is a very unlikely coincidence..."

"Or the murders are a revenge scheme against Walburga Black." Harry finished for him.

***

They'd found a list of regulars to Slytherin, intending on visiting them. There weren't many people they could talk to about Snape - he was an isolated man, who worked a shop with his partner, Poppy Pomfrey.

They were visiting her first, seemingly the only person who interacted with him on a day-to-day basis. How could anyone live a life like that?

"Madame," Harry said. "When did you last see Mr. Snape?"

Pomfrey shook her head. "Two days ago. He has a tendency of disappearing whenever he's needed at the shop. It's _his_ shop, you'd think he'd take better care of it, wouldn't you?" Her stance changed. "Why? What's he done now?"

Ron blinked. "Nothing."

"Mr. Snape is dead, ma'am." Hermione said, holding out a comforting arm to her.

" _Dead_?" Pomfrey shrieked. "I knew selling those poisons the _Walburga Black_ was a terrible idea!"

"Ma'am?"

"She killed him, didn't she?"

"No, actually," Harry said. "She has an airtight alibi. Ms. Black was in the hospital on life support."

"But-" Pomfrey paused. "Who else would want to kill him?"

Ron spoke up from where he was standing. "How do you know he was murdered?"

"Why else would the goddamn bobbies be here? I suppose you want an alibi?"

"That would be preferable, ma'am." Hermione said. "Last night, if you please."

"I most certainly _don't_ ," Pomfrey grumbled. "I was in the shop between six PM and three in the morning. I went home after that."

Harry nodded. "Could we access the CCTV for proof?"

She agreed, letting them take it. "Get lost."

The door slammed in their faces.

Ron turned to Harry. "Well, that was unpleasant."

"Mmh."

***

There were four regulars to Slytherin: Minerva McGonagall, Albus Dumbledore, Dolores Umbridge and Filius Flitwick.

All of them had visited within the last week.

A basic search into them made McGonagall, Dumbledore and Flitwick seem like good friends, and they all seemed like decent people. Umbridge on the other hand, seemed to garner hate wherever she went, despite her government position.

Ginny was going to need a _huge_ bribe to keep this from the press.

Perhaps they could offer her the story of Walburga Black?

McGonagall lived in a fairly suburban area, neat white houses all in a row.

Her house was painted a glaring scarlet, and there were cats sleeping outside of it, barely stirring as they walked down the path.

"Ms. McGonagall?" Hermione called. "We're members of the police."

The door swung open, and a woman with a heavy Scottish accent invited them in.

"Ma'am," Ron said. "When was the last time you saw Mr. Snape?"

"Severus?" she asked. "Last time I went to Slytherin was to pick up my," she coughed. "Herbal medicines."

Right. Harry wasn't even going to touch that. "Did he seem nervous, or agitated to you? Or even like something was wrong?"

McGonagall blinked. "No."

"What do you know about some of the other customers?" Hermione asked.

"Dolores Umbridge." McGonagall spat. "A foul woman."

"Can you tell us about Ms. Umbridge's relationship with Mr. Snape?" Ron said.

"Ohhh, Severus hated her just as much as I," she said. "Her insistence on buying whatever it was that she bought, every Thursday, destroyed his week. Her very presence is repulsive."

Right. McGonagall did _not_ like Umbridge.

"Why are you asking?" she said, suddenly suspicious. "What did that foul toad do to Severus?"

"Ms. Umbridge did nothing to Mr. Snape," Harry said. "Mr. Snape was found dead this morning."

McGonagall hissed. "It was that _witch_!"

Ron blinked. "Ma'am, why do you say this?"

"She was horrible! Always shoving that government position is our faces, insulting Slytherin, insulting my accent - how dare she! - insulting Albus, insulting Filius' height!"

"Ma'am," Ron tried. "Thank you for your time."

They left McGonagall's house slightly worried for whoever Ms. Umbridge was. How did anyone manage to carry a hatred that large?

"Albus Dumbledore is supposed to be our next interview. He's already over one hundred, so he's not a suspect, and I'd suggest being as gentle as we can with him." Hermione said.

"Hello, hello!" Dumbledore said, inviting them in. "Lemon drop? Do have a seat."

They all politely declined his offer, instead taking a seat and preparing to ask questions.

"Mr. Dumbledore," Harry began.

"Just Dumbledore, please." Dumbledore said.

"Dumbledore, then. When did you last see Mr. Snape?"

"Ah, young Severus," Dumbledore said. "Very bitter, but he can be nice."

"When did you last see him, Dumbledore?" Hermione asked, patiently.

"Oh, it would be last Sunday, I believe."

Ron stepped in. "Did he seem _off_ to you?"

"Oh no, no more than his usual self." Dumbledore said, eyes somehow twinkling.

How did he do that? Do you access the power of eye twinkle when you hit a hundred?

"Thank you for your time, Mr. Dumbledore." Hermione said, standing to leave.

"Oh, but my dear girl! You cannot be leaving already."

Hermione looked at Harry. "We've gotten all we needed from you."

***

The second they were outside the house, Ron said, "What did Dumbledore buy from Slytherin, again?"

Hermione pulled out the ledger, gesturing at his name. "A drug called Gryffindor, supposed to be taken by... oh." She paused. "Seeping sweets in it."

"Right," Harry said. "Never going back there again. If we need to speak to Dumbledore, we'll call him into the station."

Hermione nodded. "Flitwick next?"

"Sure."

Flitwick seemed fairly normal, if you ignored the dwarfism.

"So, Mr. Flitwick-"

" _Do_ call me Filius."

Hermione nodded. "Very well the, Filius. When was the last time you saw Mr. Snape?"

"Ah, I visited him a few days ago to get some more of his experimental treatment for some of the side-effects of dwarfism. Very talented, he is."

"Did he seem off to you?" Harry said.

Flitwick blinked. "No. Why? Has something happened?"

Ron nodded. "I'm sorry, Filius. Mr. Snape is dead."

"Oh." Flitwick sunk down into his chair. "The cure will never be finished, then. And I'll miss the man, too.

Hermione laid a hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry to have to ask, but where were you last night?"

"Ah- I was at a concert by London Bridge. There was CCTV, if you want to check that."

"Thank you, Filius," Harry said. "We'll be on our way, now."

On their way to Umbridge's house, they all winced in sympathy for Flitwick. He _had_ seemed like a genuinely nice person, and he hadn't deserved that news.

When they got there, however, they were immediately greeted by the polar opposite of Filius Flitwick.

"Hello, there, dearies!" Umbridge said, all sickly-sweet smiles and pink cardigans. "Do come in."

They stepped into an all too pink house, kitten plates adorning the walls.

Umbridge gave a disparaging look at Harry. "What were the police thinking, letting young delinquents become officers?" she tutted.

"Excuse me?" Harry said, tone coming out sharper than intended.

"Oh!" she giggled, a high-pitched sound none of them wanted to hear ever again. "I just assumed with the, you know," she gestured vaguely at Harry. "With the _piercings_ and the _disgusting_ tattoos that you had to be a criminal."

"Ma'am," Ron said. "That's harassment of a police officer. Please cease and desist or we will have no choice but to arrest you."

"My apologies." she said, and giggled again.

They collectively winced.

"Hermione," Ron whispered, "Question her about the legality of what she bought."

"You're a genius," Hermione responded, kissing him on the cheek.

"My, my," Umbridge said, smile too wide. "Don't you think that's a little inappropriate?"

"Not in this day and age, Ms. Umbridge," Hermione said with a bland smile. "When did you last see Mr. Snape?"

"Mr. Snape?" Umbridge giggled again. "Last Thursday, when picking up my prescription."

"Do you take medicine, Ms. Umbridge?" Harry said.

"Oh no, it's not for me."

Ron titled his head. "Do you have pets, ma'am?"

Giggling once more, Umbridge shook her head. "No! No pets!"

"Then who is it for, Ms. Umbridge?"

"My mother." She smiled.

Hermione rose an eyebrow. "Your mother has been registered as dead for five years."

"Ah, yes." Umbridge paused. "I thought we might hit that little snag."

"Are you aware, Ms. Umbridge," Hermione said. "That the drug you are buying slows someone's heartbeat down to a ridiculously slow speed?"

"My mother has a very fast heartbeat."

"Your _mother_ is registered as _dead_."

"My mother," Umbridge paused. "Was clinically dead. This drug keeps her alive."

Ron stared at her. "I'm pretty sure that would be incredibly painful."

"Perhaps." She did not elaborate.

"Ms. Umbridge," Hermione said. "Where is your mother?"

Smiling, Umbridge gestured to the pink door beside her. "Just through there."

The scene the door opened to was not a pretty one.

"Hermione," Harry said, horrified. "Call an ambulance."

Harry turned to Umbridge. "Dolores Umbridge," he said, pulling handcuffs out the back of his jeans. "You're under arrest."

***

The drive back had not been a fun one, listening to Umbridge's screeching. They were more than glad to drop her off; Kingsley only raising an eyebrow and saying nothing, letting them file the paperwork for her arrest.

The three of them were exhausted by the time they finally finished, planning on grabbing doughnuts and getting an early night, when Myrtle grabbed them as they headed out. "Regulus Black's autopsy came through," she said. "You probably want to check it out."

Regulus' autopsy was definitely something they wanted to check out; going through it, though, left them with more questions than answers.

"No visible wounds on upper body except for a single cut to the throat," Hermione read. "Right, we know this. Why was it so important?"

Harry tugged it out of her hand, scanning the report as quickly as he could. It seemed relatively normal, although it did mention that several muscles were weak, as well as his heart and lungs, and would no doubt have made him an easier target.

Surely it couldn’t just be that Regulus was easy prey?

“Guys, I think I found something,” Harry said. "Traces of poison were found in his system. The poison had been registered to the system, but all details on it were wiped."

The paper crumpled in his hand as he remembered Grimmauld Place, with the human heads and weapons on the walls. "Check Orion Black's murder case. Find the poison on there."

Myrtle blinked. "You think Walburga did it?"

"The poison wouldn't have killed him for a while, it just made him weak, right? Submissive enough to be the perfect son. We ought to check the dosage Orion had as well."

"Can we rush Snape's autopsy?" Ron asked. "We should probably see if he was poisoned too."

Myrtle frowned, flipping through her notepad. "We can pull that off, I think. Go talk to Walburga, and I'll see what I can do."

The discussion faded into the background as Harry focused on the paper. _Stab wound. Thirty-seven millimetres. Opinion: fatal._

Perhaps Kingsley was right. He may not have known Regulus Black, but he was determined to get justice for him.

And justice for Regulus Black began with his mother.

***

The hospital Walburga was staying in was starkly white, brightly lit place that was just on the worse side of freezing and stunk of chemicals. Doctors and nurses passed up and down the corridors, and the room had a heavy lock on it, considering she was a murder suspect.

They slipped into the room with little trouble, finding Walburga glaring at them from where she was handcuffed to her bed.

"Ms. Black," Hermione greeted her. "How are you feeling?"

"Don't act like you care," Walburga spat. "You're here to interrogate me. Nothing else."

"Ms. Black," Harry said. "We are members of the public service. It is part of our job to be polite."

"Ma'am," Ron intervened. "We'd like to ask why you poisoned yourself."

"Of course, I poisoned Regulus," she said. "I didn't mean for it to _kill_ him, but I wasn't going to jail. You weren't supposed to check the taps for poison."

Hermione blinked. "You just confessed to two police officers and a consultant."

Walburga leaned as far forward as she could. "What proof do you have? I'll deny it in court."

"You just confessed!" spluttered Ron.

"Did I?"

Harry didn't realise it was possible for Walburga to look even smugger.

She smirked. "Good luck getting that one to hold up in a court of law."

"Anything you say to us can be used against you in court." Hermione said.

"But did you start the recording?"

No, no they hadn't. Not yet.

It must have shown on their faces, because Walburga smiled at them. "I'm exercising my legal right to stay silent."

They got nothing else from her.

***

"Well that was a waste of time." Harry said.

Hermione blinked at him. “Not necessarily. We know she _did_ poison Regulus, we just have to prove it.”

“She’s not the murderer, through.”

“Mate, don’t stress about it. We all know that this is personal to you,” Ron cut in. “We _know_ you.”

Harry smiled gratefully at the pair of them. “I’m glad to have you by my side.”

Hermione opened her mouth to speak when Harry’s phone rang.

It was Kingsley.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mcg could murder umbridge in a back alley and the judge would just let her go  
> \--  
> my nice made up drug keeps you alive whilst making your heart beat so slowly it hurts. umbridge did this to her mother for five years :)))


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> it may have been four months but i have over 3k words for you ^-^

Harry stared at the caller ID for a few seconds, ‘Don’t stop me now’ blasting into the car. He sighed and picked up.

“Boss,” he greeted. “Has there been another death?”

Kingsley sighed, and Harry heard the _thud_ of a car door closing. "Yes, but that's not why I called you.”

"What?" Harry spluttered. "This is my case!"

"Listen, Harry, I don't know how you did it, and I told you not to go there, but somehow you've managed to get Draco goddamn Malfoy to come in for an interview. I need you take it, or we'll lose our chance."

"Kingsley..." he said. "Fine. I'm doing this as your friend, so I hope I get to see the crime scene."

"Don't worry, Potter," Kingsley slipped back into boss mode. "It'll be here."

Harry hung up and turned to Hermione. "You said you could crack McLaggen?"

"Oh, Hell yes."

***

They were at the police station in record time, and the receptionist called them over.

"You had _Draco Malfoy_ booked in for an interrogation room?" she said.

"Yes, thank you, Katie." Ron said.

Katie grinned at them. "Room five." A beat. "Do you think he'd give me an autograph? Katie Bell, with an autograph from Draco Malfoy!"

Harry provided an awkward nod before making his escape.

The interrogation room was bare, stone walls, a metal table, and a one-way mirror on the wall. Who knows what officer was behind there, monitoring the famous Draco Malfoy.

And there he sat, on the metal chair, his lawyer standing beside him.

Draco Malfoy.

"Hello, Draco," Hermione began, seating herself opposite him. "Do you know why you're here?"

Draco swallowed, nodding. "I just want to know who killed Uncle Reg, and prove it wasn't me."

McLaggen stepped in. "You have no evidence that Mr. Malfoy committed any crimes. You have to let him go."

Hermione ignored him. "When did you last see your godfather, Draco?"

"Sev?"

"Mr. Severus Snape, yes."

Draco looked confused. "A week or two ago, I suppose."

"Did he seem worried, or act any differently than usual?"

"No. Is he okay?"

Harry shook his head. "Draco, Mr. Snape was murdered."

Draco froze, trying to process that two of his family members were dead.

McLaggen, however, stepped in. "Who do you think you are, accusing my client of double murder?"

"We haven't accused your client of anything, _Cormac_." Hermione snapped; head held high. "I am not your lawyer 'friends', and I do not take bribes for my silence."

McLaggen went red, but continued, getting right up in Hermione's face, large frame dominating her own. "What are you accusing me of?"

His breath was hot on her cheek and smelled _foul_.

"I have yet to accuse you of anything. It seems to me you're feeling guilty, Cormac."

_"How dare you?"_ he roared, doing a remarkably accurate impression of a tomato. "I am not— I do not—"

"I will not be bullied." Hermione's words were short, clipped, but their effect was powerful. "I am in a police station with two officers and I can and will have you arrested for harassment."

"Is this blackmail, Granger?"

"Perhaps."

McLaggen huffed, hands clenched into fists.

Hermione rose an eyebrow. "I'm giving you two choices, Cormac. Listen closely."

He licked his lips, and hissed, "I'm listening."

"You leave, now, or you leave in handcuffs."

"You goddamn bi-!" he screamed, cut off by Ron putting a hand over his mouth.

"You don't say that about my girlfriend, McLaggen," Ron murmured. "You most definitely do not."

McLaggen yanked his head away, heading for the door. "I hope you have fun with your interrogation, you thrice-damned _whore_."

They watched the door slam shut behind him.

"So sorry, Draco," Hermione said. "Would you like to contact a new lawyer?"

"No," Draco said, running a hand through his hair. "No, it's fine."

"Are you aware of what this looks like?"

"That I'm slowly killing off every uncle-like figure in my life?" he laughed, a little hysterically. "No. No, sorry. You should get back to the bit where you interrogate me to get me to confess to double murder."

"Draco," Hermione said, reaching out to touch the side of his hand. "We're on your side, remember?"

"Right," he said. "But you think I murdered Uncle Reg; you think I murdered Sev—"

"No. I think you're innocent."

"You do?"

Hermione smiled at him. "Of course I do! I think you're being _framed_."

"A frame job," Draco muttered. "Okay. Okay. Okay."

Ron glanced up. "Wouldn't you be familiar with those?"

"I'm sorry?" Draco looked startled.

"You know, you got big with the spy movies - Life Imitates Art?"

"Oh," Draco realised. "The movies Life Imitates Art might actually have life imitating art."

"The killer," Hermione breathed, eyes shining. "I never finished watching that series. How did it go?"

"I mean - there were a lot of frame jobs," he said. "But it was all fake! Movie magic! I don't know how it works in real life!"

"You might get to," Harry said, glancing up from his phone. "Another body dropped. It's Cho Chang."

"Crap."

"She played—" Hermione glanced at her phone. "'Kit-Kat'? In Life Imitates Art, I mean."

"I— Yes. Female lead. She was a brilliant woman."

"Tell us more about those movies. Who was the villain?"

"I— uh, I don't remember much. They were my first films; I've done much better since." His knuckles were white from where he gripped the table. "The villain was a sort of mad scientist. Secret agent?"

"Oh?"

Draco waved a hand. "Genetic experiments, that sort of thing."

"Ah.”

"I don't even have an alibi for Sev's murder," Draco groaned, his already rumpled hair getting mussed further. "I was at home, mourning Reg."

"I assume the CCTV does not cover your private chambers."

"No."

"Okay, thank you for your cooperation today, Draco. Please contact us if you come across any information."

"I will," he promised.

"Oh, and Mr. Malfoy?" Hermione turned to him, placing a file on the desk. "I've had a look at your tax records. They seem to have some... discrepancies."

The blood drained from his face, his hands shaking as he opened it up.

"And don't bother destroying it, I have copies." She watched him for a second. "I'd continue cooperating, if I were you."

Her heels clicked on the tiling as she left the room.

***

"Hey, boss," Harry said into the phone. "Any chance you could tell me where we're going now?"

"Tomb Drive. See you there, Potter."

It didn't take too long to reach the sparkling clean alleyway, and the body lay on the ground, her arms sprawled out on either side of her.

She was so _young_ , younger than any of the previous victims by far, and barely a year older than Harry himself.

The smile that had been cut into her face did nothing to hide the raw _terror_ in her sightless, unseeing eyes, and nothing to hide the way the blood on the ground beside her slit throat wasn't quite right.

"Cho Chang?" Ron asked, unnecessarily, but cutting through the horrified silence that came from seeing the body.

"Yeah," Myrtle said, gesturing to her outfit. "She'd just come back from an audition, by the looks of it. I'm pretty sure I saw a tweet earlier from her about her winning it."

Harry's head snapped up. "The Fly In The Lens?"

"Yes, why?"

"Because I'm pretty sure Astoria Greengrass was their second choice."

Hermione grinned, that lawyer grin that looked like a shark catching its prey. "We did ask Astoria to drop into the station tomorrow."

Astoria, Draco, Walburga. Three suspects, three bodies, three too-clean alleyways.

This case got better by the second.

"Any ideas?"

Everyone was looking at Harry.

"I'm going to go and get the profile from T—" he caught himself mid-sentence. "From my profiler."

"Have fun," Hermione smirked, and Harry darted off towards Riddle Manor.

He remembered to take the car, this time, and didn't nearly die from exhaustion on the way up the _ridiculously_ steep hill.

Three knocks on the door.

Three suspects, three bodies, three too-clean alleyways.

Tom opened the door.

"Hey!" Harry said, trying not to sound too gay at this time of the morning. "I came to see what you had for me?"

"Harry," Tom greeted. "Follow me."

Tom gestured for Harry to take a seat in his overly plush living room, red carpet extremely soft and bookshelves lining every wall.

"The killer is roughly six foot," Tom began, gesturing at the wall he'd converted into a case board. "Perhaps a little shorter or a little above. They seem to be targeting men and women with dark hair, dark eyes, and pale skin, although not necessarily white."

"Any ideas on the gender?"

"Not yet, but based on the location of Black's murder, I'd say it's a man. The people in that particular pub are misogynists, hating anyone not straight, white, and male."

"Why did they hate you?"

"Pan and proud," Tom said, and Harry tried to stop the full-body shudder that came from the accompanying wink.

"Psychological notes?" he asked, trying to distract himself from his scarlet cheeks.

"Probably killing their 'type', if you understand me."

Harry did (too much, as it seemed).

"They don't seem to have a preference for gender, as shown by Chang—"

Harry froze. "I completely forgot to give you Cho's folder!" he exclaimed, remembering why he came here. "Would you like it?"

"Yes, please."

Tom plucked the folder from his hand, returning the previous case notes on Snape and Regulus as he did so.

"So, uh," Harry said, trying to ignore his hand tingling from where Tom's had brushed his. "Do you think it's a sex thing?"

Tom met Harry's eyes, a small smile curling across his face. "It can be."

"I'm sorry?"

"It could be a 'sex thing', as you put it," Tom said. "But the victims show no sign of sexual abuse, merely a smile cut into their face. The killer doesn't seem inclined to violence, with only the single cut across the throat and the aforementioned smile, so there's a good chance they're just having fun."

He paused.

"They may also be getting paid, but the murders are art, wouldn't you agree, Harry?"

"Yes," he murmured, eyes transfixed on Tom. "You're completely right."

"Of course I am," Tom scoffed. "Care for some wine?"

"I'd love to," he said. "But I'm driving."

"Your Ms. Granger's car, I see."

Harry nodded, offering up an apologetic smile.

"A few sips of wine won't hurt." Tom smiled. "Here, try some from my glass."

It _was_ delicious wine, Harry discovered, trying not to think of putting his lips on the same glass Tom had touched his own lips to. It was rich and sweet, and it was far more expensive that any wine Harry might own. It seemed to be laced with something, too, something metallic tasting.

"Is this laced?"

"Only with the best I can get."

And then Tom smiled at him, and Harry took another sip.

"It _is_ very nice wine," he admitted. "But I really can't drink much more. Hermione would kill me if I crash her car."

Tom showed him to the door, grasping his wrist as he left and touching his hand to his lips.

"Goodbye, Mr. Potter," he murmured, and Harry nearly fainted on the spot.

"Goodbye, Mr. Riddle," Harry responded, cheeks burning up and he turned the engine on.

***

As much as Harry adored his small flat and his job, as much as he enjoyed this case, he also loved his parents and idiot uncles. As such, he found himself taking a break for a family dinner, entrusting Ron and Hermione with the case notes for tonight.

Harry rapped on the door, yelling, "Mum? Idiots? I'm here!"

An exaggerated gasp came from behind the door. "Is this a person I know? I've never seen this man in my _life_."

He rolled his eyes. "Dad, I've been busy with a case. I'm sorry I haven't visited."

The door opened, and he immediately got a face full of James' shirt. "Prongslet!"

"Hi, dad," he said, and then added, "Hi Pads, Moony."

His face moved from shirt to leather jacket and old band shirts. "We've missed you!"

Remus sounded vaguely amused as he said, "It's been a week, Padfoot, let him breathe."

"Come on, my boys," Lily said, gesturing for them to come in further. "This is a family dinner, not a family strangle everyone at the door."

The large gaggle of men ended up following Lily and seating themselves around the table, laughing.

"—And everyone in Remus' English class thinks he's some kind of cryptid," Lily laughed.

"Well, it's hard not to when Sirius over here pulls up outside the school just as I finish teaching," Remus whined. "He'll climb off his motorbike, clad in ripped jeans and band shirts and leather jackets with his stupidly long hair and piercings, and say, 'Get in, Lupin,' and I'm the idiot that fell in love with him."

James grinned. "So Moony gets onto the back of the bike, and they'll drive off into the sunset together."

"To the nearest pizza place."

Sirius pouted. "I thought my hair was very sexy of me."

"We shared a dorm with you, we know your habits of flirting with your reflection."

"I _seduced_ Remus with my great hair and piercings." he insisted.

Harry snorted. "And yet somehow he's overlooked your other qualities."

Sirius scowled at him. "I still think you should've gotten a nose ring."

"Says the man with one piercing in each ear."

"Yes, but I have a tongue and a nose piercing to go with it."

"Ears only body modification for me, thanks." Harry grinned.

"You have more tattoos than Remus and Sirius put together," James pointed out.

"Besides," Sirius added. "My tongue piercing was what _finally_ got Moonbeam over here to kiss me."

Remus groaned.

James said, "Minus the fifty odd truth or dare games we played."

"And I'm pretty sure Remus kissed you to shut you up on your whining." Lily added.

"I seduced Remus with my long hair and piercings, and it was very sexy of me."

"Okay, Padfoot," Harry said.

They talked and laughed for hours, and it grew dark and they ate dessert and watched Sirius and James throw it at each other before Harry stood up to make his way home.

"I'm still on the case," he said, heading for the door.

"See you for movie night tomorrow?" James yelled.

"Sure!"

And with that, he slipped out to head home.

***

Harry awoke in his nice, cheap den, fans whirring away, to the sound of ‘Don’t Stop Me Now’.

"Hey, Ron," he said. "What's up?"

"Ginny wants us to make good on our promise. See you at theirs?"

"Sure."

He probably still had half an hour to sleep.

An hour or so later, he stood outside Ginny and Luna's house, a brightly coloured, well-lit house with room for Luna's painting studio. Xe was rather good at it, and xyr paintings fetched a pretty price on the market.

Ron knocked on the door, offering a self-deprecating smile up to Harry.

"Ginny," he said. "We owe you some information."

"Damn right you do," she said, and opened the door far enough for them to come in.

"Ginny, please," Ron said. "Keep this out the papers a little longer."

"Do you know how hard that is?" she snapped. "Reporters are like starving tigers, desperate for any scraps of food. I should know, I am one."

"Listen," Ron started. "I just want to keep this a little more low-profile for a while—"

"You have a serial killer on the loose, and you don't want anyone to know?" She scoffed. "Good luck with that."

Harry slid the files he'd prepared for her across the table. "Two more days," he said.

Ginny narrowed her eyes. "What do I get out of two more strenuous days?"

"I'll give you an interview."

"Won't your superiors kill you?"

Harry swallowed, swapping a look with Ron. "Maybe, but it's worth the two more days of free searching."

Ginny's lips tightened, and she considered her deal.

Harry's fists clenched.

Ron looked whiter than ever.

"Fine." she decided. "But if anyone, and I mean _anyone_ , tries to publish _anything_ on this, I'm publishing mine."

And then she took the case files before Harry could even finish his relieved sigh.

Ron followed Ginny, but Harry stayed where he was, fingers pulling at his piercing.

Luna wondered into the room, smiling at him. "Come and sit with me, Harry."

He followed xyr without complaint, glad to be distracted from thinking about how thin the ice he was on already.

"Has it occurred to you that you fit The Smile Killer's profile?" xe asked.

"The Smile Killer?"

"I'm good at guessing Ginny's names for things."

"Well," Harry began, before pausing. "It didn't, but I suppose you're right."

Xe smiled brightly at him. "A lot of people you know fit the profile, actually."

"Oh."

He didn't quite know what to say to that.

"Keep a close eye out, Harry Potter," Luna said, patting his hand and picking up xyr latest painting, of two beautiful red eyes.

Xe wondered back off into the house.

Ginny marched back out.

"The Smile Killer," she announced. "A tragic young man, too scared to approach his type, so he kills them instead. It'll sell quite well, especially with a little sprinkle of 'police incompetence'. They always do."

"I hope you enjoy," Harry said, making his excuses to leave. "Oh, and do tell xyr thanks from me, won't you?"

Ginny didn't ask but agreed anyway.

***

"Hey, mum," Harry said, hanging his coat up on the rack. "Where's dad?"

"He went out a while ago," she laughed, smiling at him. "What brings my only son back home today?"

"Just wanted some movie night," he said.

Lily gave a put-upon sigh. "My only son, coming home for free movies, not for love."

The phone rang.

"I'll get it," Lily said. "You get yourself comfortable."

Harry's own phone rang, and he saw Ron's caller ID and swiped to answer.

"Has there been another body?

"I— Yes, but you've been kicked from the case."

"What?"

"Conflict of interest."

"It is the Regulus thing?"

"No, Harry, it's the latest body." Ron's voice was high-pitched, nervous. "Listen, Harry, are you at home?"

"No, I'm at Godric's Hollow with mum. Why?"

"I should probably go."

"Ron!"

Lily walked into the room, pale as a ghost, hands shaking.

"Harry," she whispered. "James— James is dead."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shit's getting rEAL HERE


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which harry does what harry does best: avoid grieving by being mr. justice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a nice, long chapter as an apology for killing james 

Harry froze, staring at her. His phone slipped from his grasp, hitting the floor with a dull thud.

“No,” he whispered, shaking his head. “No, this isn’t funny. Mum. Mum, I’m going to call dad and you’re both going to apologise.”

“Harry…”

“ _No!_ It’s not funny, shut up, stop talking, I—” he broke off with a sob, and Lily wrapped her arms around him.

“I’m sorry, baby,” she choked, pressing her head against his.

He could feel her silent sobs, and he remembered Luna’s words from before. He could’ve prevented this if he’d listened to her, oh, if only he’d listened to Luna.

“I should’ve realised—”

No. _No._ She couldn’t be blaming herself, could she? Not his kind, selfless mother, who’d been bright enough to help him through almost every problem he’d ever had, who always curbed his father’s and uncles’ more reckless behaviour, who’d guided him through how to break the rules just enough to not get noticed, who always did her best and who was never, would _never_ be at fault for his flaws.

“No— mum, this is my case. I should’ve known he fit the profile.” Harry swallowed. “I should’ve told him to stay home, I just—”

“Harry, _no._ This is not your fault.” Lily pulled his chin up towards her, cradling his face as she wiped the tears off his cheeks with the pads of her thumbs. “I love you, James loves— _loved_ you, we know what cases are like. I promise you none of this is your fault.”

He let out a quiet, broken sound, and buried his head in his mother’s chest, feeling her tears soak his hair.

God, if only he’d thought to tell his dad that he might fit the profile, that he was at risk. If only he’d bothered to tell him, then he might not be dead, and he wouldn’t have to see his mother so hurt.

If only he hadn’t wanted to feel smart when he finally solved the damn case.

“I need to talk to Kingsley,” he said, and Lily nodded, eyes red and swollen.

There was a long moment where they didn’t move, Harry buried into the warmth of her embrace, and Lily with her arms wrapped around him, protecting him from the harsh truth that he’d killed his father by keeping his silence because he’d wanted to feel _smart_.

Eventually, she retracted her grasp, offering him the tiniest smile of encouragement as her arms curled around herself. Harry picked his phone up from the vicinity of the floor where it had landed

His fingers slipped on the keyboard, taking five attempts to dial the number. Kingsley picked up immediately.

“You have to let me back on the case,” Harry said, not bothering to say hello.

There was a pause, and he could hear his harsh breaths on the other end of the line.

“Harry, you know I can’t.”

His grip tightened on the phone, plastic cracking at the edges.

“You _have_ to. This is my case and it’s my fault that my father is dead because I failed to protect him.”

Kingsley’s voice was sharper, firmer. “Harry, this is not your fault.”

“ _Then let me back on the case!”_

“I can’t. You’re emotionally compromised, and you know the rules just as well as I do.” He sighed. “I’m sorry, Harry.”

“You haven’t wanted me on the case since the beginning.”

“Harry, I would if I could, but—”

Harry hung up and _screamed,_ bitter and broken, before throwing his phone at the wall. Stupid.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

He picked it back up and called Ron.

“Where’s the crime scene?”

There was a period of silence, then a single, shaky breath.

“Harry, you know I can’t tell you that.”

“ _Please._ ”

“I can’t—” Ron paused, lowering his voice. “I can see if I can get you the case file. And maybe get you in to the interrogation of Astoria Greengrass.”

Harry closed his eyes, shaking with relief. “Thank you.”

The phone slipped from his fingers, and he sunk to the floor, head in his hands.

His father was dead.

His father was dead, and it was his fault. They’d lie to him and tell him he couldn’t possibly have predicted it, but he could’ve, if he’d paid attention. Luna had managed to point that out to him, and xe had barely even glanced at the case files! Dark hair, dark eyes, pale skin, all traits that his father had and was damn proud of. He was so _stupid._

His mother came up and slipped an arm around him, hugging him close.

They stayed like that for an hour.

“I have to solve this,” Harry whispered.

Lily merely nodded, understanding. “I know you do, baby.”

Harry had always shared his methods of grieving with his father.

He gathered himself together, rubbing his eyes like he could scrub away the tears. “I’m sorry.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry for.” She paused. “Try not to break the law.”

“This is my case.”

Lily smiled, a thin, watery smile. “Not according to your boss.”

“So, I’ll just have to be careful then, won’t I?”

***

Harry wasn't stupid.

He may not have been perfect, or always the smartest (that was always Hermione's spot), but he knew what he was talking about with cases. Harry _knew_ murder.

And he'd be damned if he let them leave his father unavenged.

So, he headed straight to Malfoy Manor.

The gates were locked shut, but Harry pressed the button on the intercom.

"Malfoy," he hissed. "Open the goddamn gates or I swear to god I'll frame you myself."

The gates remained firmly shut, Draco presumably refusing to talk to them ever since they'd revealed knowledge of his tax evasion.

"I'm not here in a police capacity," he added. "I've been kicked off the case. My father has been murdered, and you are being framed, now _open the godforsaken gates, Draco Malfoy!"_

The gates swung open.

Draco was waiting inside the foyer, and he looked a mess. Harry couldn't blame him.

Two members of his family and a close friend had been murdered and he was being investigated for it. He was allowed to be a little dishevelled, away from his usual pristine self.

"What do you mean you're off the case?"

Pleasantries weren't even considered when people were being murdered.

"Conflict of interest," Harry muttered. "My father was the latest victim of our friendly serial killer."

"Then why are you here?"

He bristled. "I'm here because now there is only Ron and Hermione to root for your innocence, and the press will get hold of this case soon, and my bosses want it swept under the rug as quickly as possible."

Draco snorted, a bitter, self-deprecating laugh. "You're not just here because you don't want me framed. I'm not the smartest, Potter, but I'm not that stupid.”

"You're right."

Harry could see how truly haggard Draco was, hair mussed, suit buttoned up wrong, and dark circles under his eyes.

"I'm here because I want _justice_ , and I won't get it if they arrest you."

He met Draco's eyes, begging him to believe him. He _needed_ him to work with him, they both did, because otherwise Draco would go to jail, and Harry would never get to see his father's killer behind bars.

"Fine."

Draco just looked defeated.

"Firstly, our killer is far smarter than you," Harry began. "There's no way they're going to have the obvious connections you have."

"Hang on," Draco interrupted him. "What's my connection to James Potter?"

"Please," Harry scoffed. "I'm - I _was_ \- leading this case. I've now been removed for conflict of interest, and if I'd discovered any sort of information and had yet to tell the others, it's now too late."

He paused.

"Well, it should be too late. Luckily for you, I have no intentions of stopping."

"What do you need me to do?"

"Tell me about Cho Chang."

Draco blinked, but acquiesced. "She was utterly _brilliant_. I first met her on the set of Life Imitates Art, and she looked me in the eye and told me that I may be the male lead, but she already had a boyfriend."

"She had a boyfriend?"

"Yeah. His name is Cedric Diggory, as far as I know, they were getting engaged soon."

Harry frowned. "How comes none of us found record of this?"

"You didn't?"

"Never mind that now. Keep talking."

"She took her job very seriously. I've never seen anyone fake cry like that."

"Would she have enemies?"

"Oh, she had enemies alright." Draco touched his jaw, as though remembering something. "We all did, but her especially. She tended to be a little self-centred and incredibly commanding."

"Did anything happen?"

"Closer towards the end, I suppose." He sighed. "People would only put up with her for so long before they tried to punch it out. I took several of my own blows, too."

"So, she wasn't well liked?" Harry asked, Draco's description not matching what he knew of the actress.

"Oh, was she ever. She had many friends, and even more fans, but she still rubbed people up the wrong way."

"Did you like her?"

"Absolutely."

Harry nodded, then flipped a page in his notebook. "How did Severus Snape get to be your godfather?"

Draco laughed, watching some distant memory like it was today. "My parents were in university when they met him," he began. "A surly kid dressed all in black crashed straight into them then told them to apologise."

"What?"

"He later tried to blow them up in chemistry. Mother slapped him and they've been good friends ever since."

"What the Hell?" Harry spluttered. _None_ of that made any sense.

"Yeah, I don't know either," Draco said. "Sev was just like that, I suppose."

Right. Well, he didn't have time to unpack all of that, but he may as well continue the interrogation.

"How did Mr. Snape, a child of poverty, come to be at the same university and the Malfoys and the Blacks?"

"He may not have been rich, but he was far smarter than almost anyone I knew. His science scared people because he ignored every rule yet somehow got better scores than anyone."

"Could he have been murdered for his intelligence? Or perhaps his attitude, if it was similar to Ms. Chang's?"

"Cho was nothing like Sev," Draco argued. "She was kind, and sympathetic, and she turned most people away nicely. She may have been a little arrogant, but who isn't?"

Harry raised an eyebrow but didn't debate the point. "What connects Regulus, Mr. Snape, and Ms. Chang?"

Draco paused. "I... have no idea."

Harry sighed, rubbing his hand over his forehead. "Me neither."

"Is there a chance they're not connected?"

"Yes, of course there is," Harry said. "But why coax Regulus out the house? Why not choose a different dark haired, dark eyed person?"

"What if it was a test?" Draco asked.

"A test? For whom?"

"You. The police." He ran a hand through his hair. "What if he was testing how good you are? Whether you'd know that Regulus never left his house, figure out that Walburga has been getting away with crimes for nearly forty years, that sort of thing."

Harry dropped his notepad.

"You're a goddamn genius," he breathed. "This killer is smart. Incredibly so."

Draco looked surprised but pleased that Harry considered his theory.

"The alleyways, cleaned without anyone seeing. The almost perfect blood splatters. The lack of DNA. The man who never left the house. Alalia Street, a word that is so uncommon autocorrect wouldn't pick it up." Harry's eyes were shining. "This killer is smart, incredibly so."

Harry smiled like the cat that caught the canary.

"Tell me about the Black-Malfoy feud."

"We're not sure when it began," Draco said. "But we're pretty sure Walburga began it."

"Makes sense, considering her, y'know, everything." Harry gestured vaguely ahead of him.

"She and grandfather - Abraxas Malfoy - hated each other with a passion. Grandfather used to be friends with Orion, too, but when he got engaged, grandfather used his knowledge against him."

"And it got passed down the generations?"

"Pretty much."

Harry nodded. "So, how did your mother and father get married?"

"A combination of spite and Bellatrix, really."

"...Bellatrix?"

"She was a nightmare before she was put on medication," Draco explained. "She barely held off murdering people."

"Ah."

"Grandfather was _furious_ , but luckily mother managed to get Cygnus as a parent rather than Walburga and Orion. He didn't mind too much, and after a while grandfather fell too ill to argue."

Harry looked at him, and Draco spluttered. "No, father did _not_ poison grandfather!"

"I didn't say anything." Harry said, putting his hands up in defence.

"You were thinking it."

"Can you blame me?"

"Not really." He sighed. "In any case, the feud has just grown bitterer and quieter since. My parents never really cared either way, but Walburga dumped Great-Aunt's ashes over father, once."

"Tame for Walburga Black, really," Harry joked, and Draco cracked a smile.

"I suppose."

"I promise you; I won't let you go to jail for this."

"I know." A beat. "I hope you get to avenge your father. I'd hate to lose mine."

"Thank you, Draco," Harry said, standing up. "You've been very helpful. Do try and get some sleep."

He let out a weak smile as Harry left. "I will. Thank you for not arresting me."

"Any time."

***

Standing behind the police station, Harry sent a single text to Ron.

_Not An Emo: make a big fuss about losing the case notes, i need to sneak in. also i need the case notes [12:55]_

It took two minutes for him to receive a text from Hermione.

_Bookworm: Quickly, please. [12:57]_

The fire escape had been wedged open, with just enough space for Harry to slip his fingers into the gap and pull the door open.

The precinct was ruffled enough by Ron's announcement - "Did anyone take the serial killer case notes from my desk? Because I haven't moved them." - that they didn't notice Harry darting into the last interrogation room, which Ron had booked Astoria Greengrass into and in which Hermione was waiting.

Astoria was seated by the table, a stony-faced blonde behind her, presumably her lawyer.

"Good afternoon, Astoria," he said.

"Hello!"

Before he or Hermione could say anything else, however, the lawyer stepped forwards.

"I'm Daphne Greengrass," she said. "Astoria's lawyer."

"Is that even legal? Isn't she your sister?" Harry couldn't help but ask, only to be silenced by a single raised eyebrow.

"I'm a defence lawyer, and she is my client. Problem?"

"None at all, Ms. Greengrass," Hermione said, smoothly taking over from Harry. "As it is, we don't believe Astoria to be the killer, but we do have to follow up on all of our leads."

Daphne offered her a thin smile. "Of course. Regardless, my client does not have to answer your questions until you have proof."

"Of course, Ms. Greengrass."

Hermione pulled up Cho's Twitter, showing her last tweet about winning the audition for The Fly In The Lens.

"You also auditioned for this, did you not?" she asked.

"You don't have to answer," Daphne added.

Astoria smiled. "Oh, I did audition! I nearly got the part, but I suppose I can't win every time."

"Where did you go after the audition?"

"Astoria," Daphne hissed. "You do _not_ have to answer these questions."

Astoria ignored her entirely. "I headed home, and I called Draco, but he didn't respond."

Harry's head snapped up. "Draco hasn't left the house since he came into the station. Why wouldn't he answer your calls?"

Astoria pulled out her phone, ignoring Daphne's quiet groan. "I received a text afterwards, if that counts for anything."

_Dragon: I'm not in the mood, Astoria. [3:28]_

_Dragon: You should call my landline, anyway. I have a girlfriend. [3:28]_

_Tori: oh okay <3 [3:29]_

_Tori: love u draco [3:30]_

He nodded, letting Hermione continue.

"Are you friends with Ms. Chang?"

"No," Astoria said. "I wish I was."

"Ms. Chang was found dead, Astoria." Hermione smiled. "Congratulations on your role, by the way."

Astoria blanched, and Daphne leaned across the table, furious. "What are you trying to imply, Ms. Granger?"

"Not much, Ms. Greengrass," she responded. "And I'm sure you know the weight of these accusations."

Daphne quickly realised that Astoria wasn't going to remain silent, and that, whilst she was good, she was nowhere near as good as a lawyer as Hermione was.

So, she did what Greengrasses do best: emotional manipulation.

"Don't hurt my sister," she murmured, eyes downcast. "You and I both know she didn't commit this murder."

Hermione rose an eyebrow. "Do we?"

"This murder was the work of our resident serial killer!" Daphne hissed. "The one that the papers have yet to talk about, for some bizarre reason that I'm certain you have to do with."

"What if we said it wasn't?"

"Then I'd wonder why you've mentioned it in an interrogation that started with the murder of Regulus Black."

Daphne was good. Very good. Hermione had to relinquish a bit of ground to her there, and Harry internally cursed her skill.

Changing the subject entirely, Hermione said, "Was this audition important to you?"

"Of course not," Daphne said. "Astoria gets plenty of invitations for auditions, this was barely a blip on the scale."

Astoria smiled at her. "Actually, this was one of the biggest chances of my life. I didn't mind too much about losing, though, it means I get to spend more time with Draco."

Harry couldn't quite bring himself to believe that sweet, friendly Astoria had murdered someone, especially as she had an alibi for Regulus' murder, and she didn't fit the profile in the least.

Daphne pulled out her last card, and her ace. "What time was Ms. Chang murdered? Because Astoria was visiting Tracey Davis with our parents straight after the audition."

Hermione's lips clenched together. "Very well, Ms. Greengrass, Astoria. You are free to go."

They thanked her, leaving the room, and Hermione pulled Harry back outside the building, mercifully not getting caught.

"You have one week off for grieving," she hissed. "Use it wisely."

She yanked a loose brick free, removing the missing case files. "Take care of them."

"I will," Harry promised, and kissed her on the cheek. "Thank you, Hermione."

"Don't forget to thank Ron, too."

"I won't."

She looked at him, sadly. "I'm sorry."

"I'm _fine_!" Harry snapped, then took a breath, composing himself. "Thank you. For the, y'know, files. And the help."

"It was no trouble, Harry." Hermione paused, debating whether to say it or not. "We know how you grieve. What are a few broke protocols for justice?"

Harry smiled, and hugged her. "I owe you so much," he murmured. "Thank you. And thank Ron, too."

"I will," she promised. "Now go and solve a crime, Harry Potter."

"Will do!"

***

It was a quiet drive to Ginny and Luna’s house.

That would’ve been pleasant on any day but this, where Harry was trying to drown out the scream in his head that blamed him for his father’s death, the part of him that wanted to break down and cry.

Harry was well aware he was distracting himself rather than mourning, but how could he rest knowing his father’s killer was still out there? He’d find them and bring them to justice, and then he’d slow down and let himself grieve.

The revelation he’d stumbled upon at Malfoy Manor plagued his mind. If Regulus Black had been a test, then what was his father’s death? A failure, or a pass?

_The murders are art,_ Tom had said. _There’s a good chance they’re just having fun_.

It was just another puzzle to figure out.

There was an area Harry hadn’t tried to check up on, yet, and that was the fact that the bodies had been moved. There was a slim chance that if he could find the places the victims had been murdered in, he could find some sort of DNA evidence that would point them towards the murderer.

If only he had managed to see the autopsies for Snape and Chang. He could’ve seen some kind of uniting figure that he missed before; there had to be something. He couldn’t let them get away.

He pulled up outside their house and knocked on the door.

Luna opened it, tilting xyr head. “Hello, Harry. Are you okay?”

Belatedly, Harry realised his hands were shaking. “I- yeah.”

“I don’t think you are.”

“Please can I just come in?”

Xe gestured past xyr, making room for Harry to come inside and settle himself down. Luna came back with Ginny and biscuits, as well as one of xyr well known cork necklaces.

“My father is dead,” Harry said, and he saw Ginny’s eyes widen. “He was killed by our killer, so I’m off the case.”

“Oh,” she said. “What do you need?”

“Publish your story.”

Ginny paused, staring at him. “You asked me to delay it this long, and now you want me to publish it?”

“I’m not working the case anymore,” Harry said. “But I’m still trying to figure it out. My methods of finding it out have to change, because I can’t access police resources without risking Ron’s position.”

Before she could respond, the doorbell rang.

“I’m sorry,” Ginny said, standing up. “But I’m pretty sure I know who that is, and I need to get that before they manage to figure out that I’m hiding this case.”

She slipped from her seat, opening the door, and pasting a fake smile over her face. “Lavender! Romilda! It’s a pleasure to see you again.”

“I’m sorry to say I can’t say the same,” Lavender said, nose in the air. “Seeing as we know you’re hiding something from us. Something big.”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

“Well,” Romilda said, “Considering I can see Detective Inspector Potter’s car here, I’d say you’re trying to hide a failing of the police.”

“Those _always_ sell well,” Lavender added. “Scared for your brother’s career, perhaps?”

“Uh. Hi.” Harry walked out into the hallway, waving awkwardly. “Sorry, I borrowed my dad’s car to come and see my friend. Not much to see here.”

Romilda squinted at him. “You’re also a police officer.”

“And you’ve been running around London, if I’m right,” Lavender agreed.

“Oh, I was on a case.” He smiled at them. “I’m not on the case anymore. It was a fairly small one.”

“You ought to stop harassing me,” Ginny said, attempting to close the door in their faces.

“You told us there was something big going on and there wasn’t,” Romilda hissed. “You are hiding something, and we will figure it out.”

“You do that.” Ginny slammed the door in their faces. “Shall we get to editing my articles, then?”

Ginny’s study was a dark panelled room that reminded Harry of Riddle Manor, but lighter, like the rest of the house. The desk was covered in paper, drafts and second drafts and pictures and notepads full of scribbled thoughts.

Harry wondered how hard journalism must be, considering that all the reporters were vultures, fighting for scraps of information among the pack.

Did vultures travel in packs? Harry was pretty sure they did. Maybe a colony of vultures?

Ginny turned her computer to face him, showing off her main article, headed ‘The Smile Killer’, just as Luna had predicted.

“There’s the case one,” she said, a small smile on her face. “I’ve just emailed it to my boss. I’m sure she’ll appreciate it.”

Harry grinned, excited for tomorrow’s headlines. “Draco Malfoy is having an affair with Astoria Greengrass.”

She rose an eyebrow at him, but he could see she enjoyed that information. “Anything else?”

“Walburga Black has been poisoning Regulus Black for nearly a decade now.”

Ginny nodded, typing furiously. “Got it.” A pause. “These three articles plus the police incompetence one you’re going to sit through are going to sell so damn well.”

Harry sighed, slumping into his seat. “Thank you so much.”

She looked at him, then wrapped her arms around him. “I’m sorry they took you off the case,” she said. “I know it must suck.”

She didn’t say it, but Harry could hear her condolences for James’ death.

“Thank you,” he whispered, and hugged her back.

“You’re a good friend, Harry, and you don’t deserve this.”

“I got him killed.”

Ginny pulled herself free of his arms, sitting back so sharply Harry thought she was going to slap him.

“Harry James Potter,” she hissed. “If you ever say that ever again, I swear to _God_ I will hit you so hard your ancestors will bleed in their graves.”

“But—”

“No buts. You did your damn job, and you know it. The only person at fault for your father’s death is The Smile Killer and you goddamn know this. Now shut up, and stop feeling sorry for yourself, and solve the damn case.”

Harry stared at her, and then laughed until he _cried_.

“God,” he said. “I don’t know why that worked, but it did.”

“I know,” Ginny replied, but he could see the tiny smile dancing on her lips. “Now go and talk to Luna so I can finish writing these up.”

He smiled at her, leaving the room to find Luna painting in the upper living room slash studio.

“Hello, Luna.”

Xe glanced up from xyr paintings, absent-mindedly waving at him. “Come and sit down.”

He did, settling himself onto the white sofa opposite xyr, watching xyr as xe painted.

“I wished I’d listened to you,” he said, after sitting in comfortable silence for a while. “If I’d listened to what you’d said then my father would still be alive.”

Luna blinked, glancing up from xyr work. “You can’t save everyone, Harry.”

“I can damn well _try_.”

“Of course you can,” xe said. “But you can’t blame yourself when they get hurt.”

The sound that came out of his throat was animalistic, a bitter, broken sound. “But I could’ve told him about the case, told him that he was in danger, told him to stay inside – I didn’t even _try_ , it didn’t occur to me, and now he’s _dead_.”

He sank back, waiting for Luna’s response, but xe only hummed, and said, “Tell me about your father.”

“Dad is- _was_ one of the most exuberant people I’d ever known,” Harry began. “Outmatched by nobody but Sirius, he seemed to have boundless energy and he was so damn brave.”

Luna nodded, and he swallowed before continuing. “He risked his life for strangers every day, and then he’d come home to mum, who is a prosecution lawyer, so they’d make sure that the criminals got put away and play pranks and have fun.”

Luna didn’t respond this time, and Harry squeezed his eyes shut, trying to prevent the tears from falling in this strange, timeless room. Why didn’t Luna have a clock in here, anyway?

“He’ll never do any of that ever again,” he added. “Because I couldn’t be bothered to tell him about the case.”

Xe looked at him, shaking xyr head. “But Harry, do you really think he was the sort of man to sit around and stay inside?”

“No.”

“He’d have left the house whether you told him he was in danger or not. That was the kind of man James Potter was,” xe reassured him. “Stop blaming yourself.”

When Harry opened his mouth to argue, xe cut him off. “Besides, the killer managed to lure Regulus Black out of the house, so who’s to say that he would’ve been safe inside?”

Harry managed a weak smile, and Luna waved xyr hand at the door. “Go and flirt with your crush.”

“He’s not my crush!” Harry argued, but left anyway.

***

Harry was more glad than ever not to have to climb the hill from Hell and parked the car outside Riddle Manor before hammering on the door.

“Hello, Harry,” Tom said, and he looked a little scattered.

Harry wouldn’t have noticed if he hadn’t made a habit of noticing things about Tom. Tom’s hair was parted slightly raggedly, and his suit was creased in the corner, but he was smiling at Harry anyway.

“Hey, Tom,” he said, realising he’d been staring at him. “How are you?”

“I’m good,” Tom replied, letting Harry in. “You don’t seem to be.”

Harry was glad Tom had noticed. “My father has been murdered by the killer, and I’ve been kicked off the case.”

Tom scowled. “I’m sure they’ll put you back on the case soon.”

He tugged at his cuffs, and Harry spotted a patch of crimson. “Oh my god, Tom, are you okay?”

“Hm?”

Tom glanced at his wrist and back, flustered. “Oh, uh, yeah. It was just a small cut.”

“I’m glad you’re okay,” Harry said, then hesitated. “I don’t really have anything to do today, I just wanted to, well, hang out, I guess.”

Tom smiled at him. “I’m always glad to be around you, Harry. I’ve got good wine.”

“Thank god.” Harry tugged his piercings. “Everyone just keeps saying ‘I’m sorry’ or telling me it isn’t my fault. I just want to get drunk and solve the damn case.”

Tom rose an eyebrow. “I thought you were off the case?”

“Well. Uh. About that?”

He laughed, and it was a _beautiful_ laugh, rich in all the right places. “Luckily for you, I have many cabinets of wine.”

Tom did, in fact, have an awful lot of wine, all red, all French, all vintage, and all extremely expensive. Harry could _not_ wait to start chugging these like cheap shots.

Glass in hand, he put his feet up on the mahogany table, then downed the contents. Alright, it was great wine, but it tasted the exact same as the damn wine he’d buy from the corner shop. Expensive wine was an illusion and prices were propaganda.

Tom was staring at him, stuck somewhere between vaguely bemused and horrified. “Don’t you have to drive?”

“Screw that.”

“You could stay the night here, if you liked,” Tom offered.

“I’d literally love nothing more than that.”

He was pouring wine down his throat at an alarmingly fast rate, and Tom watched him, warily, like he was going to turn around and murder Tom.

It occurred to him that Tom fit the murderer’s profile: dark haired, pale skinned, dark eyed.

“You should be careful,” he said. “The killer’s type is you.”

A pause.

“Oh wait, you know that. You profiled it.”

“Harry, I think you should try and not drink wine like—”

“Anyway, the last one I didn’t warn died, so don’t do that.”

“Harry—”

“I like you too much for you to die.”

Harry blinked, and the world was blurry when he opened his eyes, but he could’ve sworn he saw a figure in the doorway.

“Who’s that?” he slurred, pointing at them.

Tom’s face swum into view. “Who’s who? We’re the only ones here, Harry.”

“Oh.” Tom had a very pretty face. All the cheekbones and… pointy. His hair was pretty too. The curls hang delicately over his top face? Upper head? Oh! Forehead!

“Can you hear me?” Tom was saying, and Harry smiled at him.

“I really like you very much, Tom,” Harry said, placing his head on Tom’s lap.

Tom looked highly amused by this, and patted Harry’s head. “I really like you very much too, Harry.”

“You’re very pretty. Like, really pretty.”

“I think you need to sleep.”

Harry grabbed Tom’s wrist, hand enclosing round the still damp red stain. “Only if you come with me.”

He found himself being hoisted into the air and buried his face in Tom’s neck.

“You smell nice,” he said. And then added, “I bet you’d taste nice, too.”

Tom slid him into a bed, large, plush covers on all side. “Sleep well, Harry.”

“Stay with me?” Harry asked, all adorably drunk and wide-eyed.

Tom sighed, settling in beside him. “I’ll stay for a little while,” he murmured, only to have Harry’s arms wrapped tightly around his waist.

“Do the sleep, Tom.”

“Goodnight to you too, Harry.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is 5.3k. i wrote half the material i had planned for it. what the actual fuck. anyway, i cut this chapter in half, so there's more coming soon!

**Author's Note:**

> You could... poke your head into my [Discord server](https://discord.gg/37bXdGW)? I don't bite (much)!
> 
> Alternately, you could pop into my mess of a Tumblr [here](https://goldenzingy46.tumblr.com/), or my writing Tumblr [here](https://goldenzingy46butwriteblr.tumblr.com/)!
> 
> Comments and kudos sustain me :)
> 
> [for bribe related reasons, i ask you to go and have a look at user [alfisha](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alfisha)'s fics, and they are a damn good writer]


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